Jules
took a deep breath and sighed before pulling off of I-95 onto the
exit for his least favorite place on Earth. I present to you:

A
NIGHT AT SOUTH OF THE BORDER

By
John Minus

Jules
hated South of the Border. It was a neon soaked tacky oasis of a
roadside attraction, a monument to everything that was tasteless and
wrong about America. Jules considered himself to be a rather dazzling
person with stylish and expensive tastes. This place was anathema to
him; not only was he a fish out of water here, he was a fish in outer
space.

For
Laverne however, this was right up her alley. Useless, poorly made
trinkets were her bread and butter, her raison d’etre. South of the
Border was the Mecca of Meaningless, the El Dorado of doohickeys. She
looked upon South of the Boarder the same way Indian Jones looked on
the Canyon of the Crescent Moon, with an air of awe and reverence.

Normally
two people with such diametrically opposed views on a place would
never be able to coexist in harmony there, and this was no exception.
Jules knew he would not know a moment of peace until they visited
this den of camp and vaguely racist Mexican imagery. As he pulled
their Range Rover into the parking lot, his senses were immediately
assaulted by the awfulness of his surroundings. There was indeed neon
everywhere, and it gave the entire facility a dull red luminous
pallor that made Jules shudder to think what this place would look
like in the daytime.

South
of the Border is a loose association of badly disarranged buildings
billed as a resort rest stop; it was what Disneyland would look like
if it was designed in a PCP-induced manic state and funded with
welfare money and food stamps. All in all, it was not the preferred
destination for someone who was used to hanging out in New York City
nightclubs.

Laverne
on the other had spent much of her time in 4-star hotels but found
this place to be far more exciting. She loved the day-glo gauchos,
gushed over the wiener dog statues that were, or course, a dachshund
in a hot dog bun, and swooned over the anthropomorphic cacti. She was
in her element, and that element was cheap plastic crap. Jules was
hungry so they wandered into what seemed to be the only open eating
establishment in the area, Pedro's Diner. It was just as charming as
it sounded. He was never too picky about what he ate, so he ordered a
couple of hot dogs, some fries, and a soda that he was unfamiliar
with called “Seize.” Sounded exciting.

"Verne,
you want anything?" he asked. "Yeah, a cheeseburger and
some seltzer water." Laverne was entranced by a coin operated
vending machine that dispensed plastic jumping beans dressed like the
Village People. She was prepared to spend any amount of quarters to
collect all five. Through some clever manipulation of the soda
machine Jules managed to obtain some seltzer water. It was by far the
healthiest substance available.

"Isn’t
this place great? Simply sublime."

"Great?
Like a great waste of time? A great waste of time and resources? Yes,
yes it is."

"No
I mean just great over all." Laverne was in a state of revelry
comparable to the first time Dorothy saw the Emerald City. Everywhere
she looked there were grotesque caricatures of Mexican culture
saturated with a color scheme that looks like it was taken straight
from one of Hunter S Thompson's cocaine-fueled nightmares.

"We
should call this trip 'Fear and Loathing in South of the Border'"
Jules said, feeling very pleased with himself.

"Oh
yeah, Hunter S Thompson right?"

"You
know Hunter? I'll be damned."

"Yes
Jules, I do know things. I was able to operate and survive before you
graced my life with your narcissistic omnipotence."

"HEY
I'M NOT... Oh you said omni-potence. Never mind. Verne, I know you
know things, you know lots of things, but you’re completely
ignorant when it comes to pop culture, we both know that."

"Yes,"
she sighed, "I know. But one of the most infamous legends at
Drogehaus is about him. Back in the 60's Drogehause hired Hunter S
Thompson to do an Aspirin commercial since they’d heard that he had
some of the most epic hangovers in American History. The commercial
shoot was a disaster. He was drunk the whole time and kept inserting
long, meandering rants about Richard Nixon and lizard people into his
scenes. So, they were selling children's aspirin and he would
insist, on camera, that children's aspirin was directly to blame for
the pathetic middle-class warlords that allowed the Vietnam War to
happen. At some point he spiked the entire shoots water with
mescaline and peyote. Three months later the crew returned, but they
were not the same people who set out into that Costa Rican jungle. It
ended up marking the Golden Age of marketing creativity at Drogehaus,
but none of their could be used in any campaigns as there was way too
much nudity for an American audience. Sold great in Europe though.

Jules
nodded attentively. "That. Is a helluva story."

"Yeah.
I tell great stories all the time, you just don't listen."

Usually
her stories about working in marketing at international
pharmaceutical giant Drogehause bored him to tears, and he only
listened out of duty and the responsibility to be interested in his
girlfriend’s work life. But this, this was different. He was
enraptured. As the words poured out of her mouth he could see and
feel what was happening as if he'd been there. He drank another
mouthful of Seize and suggested that they hit the stores before they
closed.

“Come
now Verne, we mustn’t be late. Fame and fortune awaits us in
Atlanta, and we can’t dawdle here all night.” Laverne was way
ahead of him. She had finished her food and moved across the parking
lot with dreamlike speed to Mexico Show West. As they approached the
main curio store every sense was assaulted by some new insult to good
taste, like what FAO Schwartz would be like if run by Peggy Bundy.
Everywhere there were piles, piles of unidentifiable nothings that no
sane person would ever put in their home. Fortunately for The Great
Pedro, South of the Border was often frequented by no sane person, a
demographic Laverne definitely embodied.

“Jules!
Babe look! It’s a cat wearing a sombrero and drinking tequila from
its catty bowl!”

“Catty
bowl?”

“Yes,
you know… the bowl a cat drinks from.”

“I
think it’s more commonly known as a water bowl Verne.” Jules took
another large swig of Seize. It didn’t taste like much more than
lemon flavored antifreeze, but wow was he awake.

“Whatever,
it’s adorable.” She had a cart now, and was flying between the
aisles, a blur of manic trashistic consumerism. Jules was glad they
didn’t have pink flamingos; in his head he counted how many it
would take to fill his truck. He saw them squawking and fighting over
some piece of bread Laverne was tossing into the back seat. He saw
them biting and clawing at him until they finally drove off of a
cliff; his last moments spent fighting the avian version of Johnny
Weir.

“Jules.”

“WHAT?!?”
Jules snapped out of his reverie to see Laverne draped in a poncho
and sombrero, with a bandolier over each shoulder, each little pocket
stuffed with a tiny plastic taco instead of a bullet. “This is
amazing. Look at all this treasure!” A bright orange what he
assumed was Mexican mustache was perched precipitously on her upper
lip. Her pockets were stuffed with chocolate candy cigars.

“You
look like you could be a statue outside.” Jules remarked. He was
impressed at how clever his observation was. “Nailed it!”

“If
only. You could ever have this much style. Oh! Oh! Oh! CHRISTMAS
ORNAMENTS!” In a flash she was under the Christmas trees, gather up
handfuls of tequila-shot tree ornaments. Jules took another
large mouthful of Seize. It was starting to taste better and better
to him, and it seemed like he’d been drinking it for hours. He
checked the time on his phone; apparently it had only been 10 minutes
since they pulled into the parking lot. That was strange. What was
stranger was the large Bald Eagle that glided low over his head. He
looked towards the table were statues of Bald Eagles with an American
Flag in one claw and a South of the Border shot glass in the other.
The Eagle-in-flight dropped the shot glass on his head. It was full.
Jules shrugged and made it not full.

He
relaxed a little. This place wasn’t so bad. There were frogs
wearing wizard hats and Dragons piled high in one dark corner of the
store. What European dragons had to do with a Mexican themed souvenir
store on the border of North and South Carolina was beyond him, but
whatever. He shrugged and chugged some more Seize. It was really
hitting him now. More Eagles left their perches, swooping down from
the sky, hunting the many singing trout strategically placed in the
impulse-buy area around the main register. The eagles soared away
with their singing trout, carrying them off to meet their Democratic,
American fate at the talons of Eagles that vaguely resembled Richard
Nixon. He caught a glimpse of Laverne across the store. She looked
smaller. And browner. And her mustache looked extra realistic. He
thought this was probably worth investigating.

It
was only 50 ft. between him and Laverne, but it felt like it took
hours for him to reach her. By the time he got to where she was she
was not, which he half expected but was also surprised by. He heard
her voice, but it sounded muffled, as if she was yelling at him from
behind a door or a thick glass window. Which she was.

“Jules!
Jules! I’m down here!”

“Why
do you sound Mexican?”

“JUST
GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

He
still didn’t see her. “No, I’m really kind of enjoying this
Mexican Laverne. Say ‘Badges! We don’t need no steenking
badges!’” He was giddy.

“Get
me out of here you asshole.”

Truthfully
he did not see her. He was distracted by a row of rainbow colored
donkeys (wearing serape of course) doing the can-can dance. He was
entranced. They had little mugs of Seize and were liberally sipping
the probably toxic drink. He liberally sipped from his cup and all of
a sudden there she was; a tiny Mexican Laverne in a South of the
Border snow globe.

“Well
that’s just frickin adorable” he slurred, “A snow globe that
looks like a Chicano version of my girlfriend. I should get it for
her, it’ll be a hoot.”

“I
AM THE HOOT YOU IDIOT! THIS IS ME. I’m in the glass.”

“Impossible.
You’d be drowning.”

Laverne
banged her head against the glass in exasperation. “Look around
you! All of these people are different! We’ve been talking, and
they all got here the same way I did; they were so engrossed by the
wonders of Mexico West that they BECAME a treasure of Mexico West.”

“Well
that’s just stupid.” Snow globe Laverne was adorable, but he
decided that he wouldn’t want her to stay this way forever.

“You’re
tiny, which will make sex difficult. Not impossible, but difficult.”
Jules tapped on the glass of all of the snow globes to see if what
she said was true. All of the people inside where garishly dressed,
just like her, and the harder he tapped the more they shook. “It’s
the Seize. You have to drink the Seize and you can see everything
here for what it really is!”

Jules
thought this sounded like a capitol idea. He hadn’t had any in
three minutes. He opened his travel cup and took four great big swigs
of Seize. It still seemed to be mostly full. “H-uh,” he thought,
“that’s off.” When he looked up from his cup what he saw was
even odder. Everything in the store was dancing, singing, moving.
Rubber snakes slithered everywhere; cacti played vihuelas, and small,
snoring Pedro’s continued to be small and snore.

“Oh
no. No this isn’t right. I ate the wrong mushroom. I thought this
place would be strange but not tiny water-breathing Verne strange.”
The water breathing part is what really held his attention, far more
than her shrinking and suddenly becoming a Mexican man.

“The
others, they say you have to use a sword and magic. That’s the only
way you can defeat the dragon.”

“Jules
was convinced he’d lost his mind. But fuck it, he thought, its 5 am
and my girlfriend’s in a snow globe. Also, swords and shields were
the most accepted tools for exterminating dragons. “OK MEXICO SHOP
WEST, YOU WANNA GET WEIRD?!?! LET’S GET WEIRD!” He searched
frantically around the store for something that would help him
fight A
DRAGON.
He doubted that this was a real thing, despite all he had experience
so far because-why-would-oh-yeah-he-had-already-had-this-conversation
and there was most definitely a …”

Jules’s
inner monologue was cut off by the jet of searing flame that just
missed melting his head from his shoulders. He crouched behind a
nutcrackers shaped like obese women on house robes. “Why are you
here? What do you have to do with Mexico?”

“I’ve
been displaced you see”, said the dragon which curiously enough
sounded exactly like David Tennant. “Now if you’ll kindly die I
can get back to my nap.”

“Jules
frantically searched for a useless piece of ceramic crap that could
save his life. Eventually he found some Pedro’s in karate gi’s
sparring in the corner. He asked a battalion of animated water guns
to cover him and, to his surprise, they did.

“Hi
Pedro’s, look, I’m in a ridiculous fucking situation and I need
your help. Can I borrow a pair of your sparring gloves?”

“So
racist” he mumbled under his breath. As Jules walked back to where
the dragon was, he couldn’t fit the tiny gloves on his fingers. He
had a revelation and took another big swig of Seize.

Meanwhile
Laverne couldn’t help but note the irony of her situation. If she
was shopping, she’d buy her in an instant. She was, in fact,
adorable. This situation wasn’t adorable though, and she thought
hard on how to get out. Her neighbor to her immediate right was an
insurance salesman from Dubuque who was on vacation with his
mistress, who was in the globe to his immediate right.

“How
long have you been here?” Laverne asked Dale the salesman.

“Two
years. My, um, acquaintance didn’t want to come here… “ “NEVER
WANTED TO STOP IN THIS HELLHOLE” she creamed from behind him. “Yes…
she didn’t want to come in but I’d heard of this place and how
could you pass up classic pieces of Americana like this for these
prices?”

“RIGHT!?!”
Laverne exclaimed, “This stuff is found treasure! I don’t like
becoming part of the treasure though. Jules better find us a way out
of here. This is the third most ridiculous trap I’ve ever gotten
stuck in”

“Third?”

“Yeah.
Number two was when I stuck in a snowbank off the main trail while
snowboarding and couldn’t extricate myself without the use of a
snowplow and some very understanding Park rangers. The first involved
the Sears Tower. I’d rather not go into that one.”

“Jules
had the gloves on, and had transformed into some kind of Street
Fighter. Ok., he thought, I think I’m getting the hang of this. He
rounded the corner to where the dragon had somehow collected all of
the snow globes. Including the one that Laverne was in.

“HEY!
Dragon Tennant! Drop the Pedro Laverne and step away!”

“Look
mate, you don’t want me to drop her, or any of them, because
they’ll all die. Well to be honest I’m going to crush them all
after I eat you, but I’ll do you a solid and kill you before you
see them die.” The dragon struck out with cobra-like speed, nearly
catching Jules off guard. He recovered and came around quickly,
looking to bite Jules’s leg off at the knee. Jules had jumped to
avoid the first attack, and since he saw that the second attack was
coming in low, he did a hurricane kick, spinning and catching the
dragon right in the temple. He then threw a fireball that connected
with the dragon’s temple, causing stars to circle his head. (yeah
apparently he could do that now).

Pedro-Jules-Ryu
dashed across the room attacking Dragon Tennant before he could get
his wits about him. He recovered faster than Jules thought possible
though, and their two attacks, the dragon striking from above, Jules
striking from below, met with a ferocious crack. Jules had landed a
devastating right uppercut to the dragon’s jaw, shattering his
scales; he then delivered a thunderous body blow with his left hand,
driving all the breath and fire from the dragon’s lungs. He
finished him off with a giant leaping right handed uppercut. SHIN,
SHO-RYU-KEN. The dragon flew across the room, slamming into a giant
pile of ceramic sombrero ashtrays. As he passed out he turned back
into the dragon paper weight he had been when they entered.

All
the snow globes shattered and the people inside were freed. Jules
rushed over and hugged Laverne tightly. “Oh Verne, don’t you ever
get caught in this kind of stupidity again, and this is the third
worst trap I’ve had to save you from. I mean, do you remember the
Sears…”

“YES
I REMEMBER. But thank you. She gave him a tender kiss which he gladly
returned.”

“Ok
let’s get the hell outta here Verne. I have all the roadside
distraction I can take for one lifetime.”

As
they said this Dale stepped outside and was immediately gored by a
massive ceramic bull. Jules and Laverne looked around and all of the
animal statues on the premises had come alive, and were chasing the
other poor victims around the parking lot. Between our heroes and
their car was a bear, a flock of plastic pink flamingos (I knew it,
Jules muttered) and most heartbreaking of all, the giant red Weiner
dog

“NO
WEINY, NOT YOU!?!”

“WEINEY?!?”

“Yes.
Weiney. I named him.”

“Well
Weiney is gonna turn us into Wieney shit if we don’t do something.”
Jules still had some Seize in him, so he was still in karate guy
form. Laverne wouldn’t normally be able to fight her way through
these monsters… unless…

“Give
me the Seize.”

“What?
No! What? I think this is pure liquid hallucinogens!”

“Just
give it to me.” Laverne pulled a small, ceramic mustachioed female
Pedro Gymnast from her hemp purse. “I was going to save her from
that place, but now she’s going to save us.” Laverne took her
little Pedro Gymnast Sombrero, and stuck it into her hair. Instantly
she turned into a world class gymnast. “Ok let’s go kick
some tacos.”

“Pretty
sure that’s racist too!” Jules yelled as he charged into battle.
Laverne flipped, twirled and leapt into the crowd, single-handedly
taking out all of the flamingos. Jules shattered the bear with huge
fireball, and soon the only obstacle left between them and freedom
was Weiney.

“Not
Weiney, I can’t destroy Weiney”

“It’s
ok Verne, I’ll deal with him, and you just get to the car.”

“No.
No.” she whispered.” I have to get a handle of my obsession with
knickknacks, and this is as good a chance as I’ll get to literally
face down my demons.” Weiney barked a high pitched bark and
charged, his tiny Weiner dog legs flailing about. It was the cutest
thing Laverne had ever seen. Still, as he went to head butt her she
deftly leapt straight into the air, somersaulted three times, and
came crashing down in the top of his head. A crack went down the
length of his spine, and Weiney was no mar.

“I
know that was hard for you Verne”

“No,
she flashed her eyes at him, full of rage and sadness; “you will
never know how hard that was. Weiney had the best puns, the best
bumper stickers. And I killed him. Let’s get this trip over with.”

Jules
and Laverne solemnly headed towards their car, Jules secretly picking
up a piece of shattered Weiney on the way. It was the least he could
do. Behind them came the shrieks and screams of the other captors
they had never bothered to try and save.

The
rumble of the car starting soothed them, until they realized that
wasn’t the only rumbling hey felt. Sara looked in the mirror
and saw a giant “South of the Border” sign come swinging at them.

“DRIVE,
DRIVE NOW!” Jules saw what she was yelling about and barely got the
car out of the way, losing a rear turn signal in the process.

“NO
ONE LEAVES SOUTH OF THE BOARD UNTIL PEDRO SAYS SO.” His giant neon
frame glowed menacingly as the coming dawn crept towards them over
the horizon. He pulled himself free from the ground and awkwardly
ambled toward them, his sign ready to flatten them. Fortunately
Laverne had one more trick in her bag; a Sombrero ashtray.

“WHAT?!?!
YOU DON’T EVEN SMOKE!?!”

“I
know. But it was cute.” She slammed it down on the dashboard and
the whole car began to change. It grew a giant black mustache, and
the rumble of the engine sounded more like a snore.”

“Say
no more.” Jules did a K-turn floored it, and with the power of the
sombrero shattered Pedro’s left leg, sending him flying to the
ground forever. Or until they rebuild him, he’s just made of neon
lights and cheap steel; it won’t really be that big of a project.
But for the immediate future the threat was over.

“Hey
I wonder what happened to all those other people,” Laverne asked.

Want to Syndicate Me?

About Me

Exit Eleven refers to the Exit off of the NJ Turnpike of which I have lived most of my life (I have lived off of Exits 10 and 9 for a few years) but most of my life I've lived off of Exit 11. It's a Jersey thing, some people are proud of and some people despise it, but we all know what exit we live off of. It is sort of ingrained in our DNA. I happen to be proud of it, and my state. That's why I named my Blog after it.

Exit 11 is mostly reader driven, meaning I write about what people around me want to read about at the time, or what is going on in my life at the time. Other times I just write about whatever is going on socially. Hopefully it's funny, but it's always relevant. Mostly.

I'm just a normal guy who has an opinion about absolutely everything under the sun. I am a combination Writer/Psychologist, which gives me a unique perspective on life, the universe, and everything. My two favorite subjects are Love and Race, but I cover everything eventually.